Glass Manacles【SHORT STORY】

Glass Manacles

            I awoke to the sound of thunder. The cabin of the boat was rocking back and forth more heavily now that the storm had seized the waters beneath us. My son, despite his age, entered the room with tears in his eyes. I don’t blame him; having to deal with his anxiety at a time like this can only be harder due to the storm.

We’ve capsized once before in a storm like this, but it was many years ago. We were on our way home from visiting his grandparents. The radio had estimated a large storm to be just south of our typical path, so we decided to play it safe and alter course northward by a kilometer. The weatherman had been wrong. When we entered that horrible downpour, we were not expecting anything worse than what we had faced before. I want him to laugh at it one day, but we both know that isn’t possible. That day, the winds suddenly changed one moment—it was strong enough even to push us back half a meter—and as the boom came swinging, it picked up my dear child. He was only a teen then, but his weight dangling off the side of the boat, aided by the howling winds, was enough to flip us. I’d capsized plenty preceding his existence, of course, so I knew how to deal with the situation. I have always just wished I could trade his anxiousness for my calm; I operate better under pressure anyway.

As I looked at him in the doorway now, I was reminded of how many times I’ve had to do this. Like usual, I had to take care of my son before saving our lives. I got up from my bed and walked over to him with an embrace he was already expecting. I held onto him tight to prevent him from being taken by the waves’ earth-rocking forces.

After a moment I stepped back, bracing against the wall and looked into his eyes.

“Let’s get out there and see how bad it is,” I said. My son swallowed, meeting my eyes, and nodded.

Matching the rock of the boat with ease, I led us to the door before the deck. I could almost feel the tightness in his chest welling in mine. Deep breath. He will be okay. I opened the door to a blast of cold seawater in droplets. Whether from the sky or the ocean I could not tell. No words were exchanged between me and my kin, as instinct contorted with experience moved our hands before our heads. I pulled a rope, he loosened another. Here and there one of us would grab the wheel, spin it another way. Everything in a rhythm, according to the patterns we have so faithfully learned all these years. Not a single mistake was made. Not me, my son, nor Nature acted out of line. As we continued this dance with the wind, it changed its tempo on us suddenly.

“Father!” I heard my son call. I unveiled my eyes from the years of muscle memory to see the boom inches from my face.

 

××××            ××××

 

            I lay on an obsidian beach, a deep throbbing pounding through my forehead. I pressed myself up to take in my surroundings: a dead fish lay a few meters away, but otherwise, nothing. My child, my sailboat. It was all gone. Panic crept into my eyes as I desperately searched for any sign of life. Something caught my ear. A howling noise. I felt almost compelled to follow it. After a minute of searching this black beach, I found the sound’s source: a small cave. It seemed a good enough spot as any to get away from the chilling winds. I sat down and buried my face in my hands as I pondered once more. I had lost everything. My only living child, my heirloom of a sailboat, and any hope of living out a peaceful life with it. Seconds passed. Then minutes. Eventually, I felt something warm on the backs of my hands and looked up to gaze into a fire that surely was not there before.

            “Welcome,” a deep voice echoed in my head, “You need something.” It was not a question.

            “What?” I responded, completely ignorant of who I was talking to.

            “You are in an interstice of time and space. My identity is not of importance; however, I can manifest what you desire.”

            “So, I am dreaming?”

            “No. I have held you between Planck times. Everything that happens here is real, do not treat it as a dream. You may leave at your request; however, it would be in your best interest to stay.”

In a wave of apathy and desperation, I gave into what was surely insanity after all these years. I accepted the offer.
            “Good. But you must do something for me in return. Plunge your hand into the fire,” it said. I did as I was told. Whether insanity or reality, it mattered not to me anymore. Either way I would be closer to joining my family.
            It burned for a moment, but after a few seconds the flames quelled down into a solid object in my closed fist. The little light from the outside revealed it to be an odd shade of purple, like amethyst without any luster.
            “What is this?” I asked the voice. When it replied, the strange stone glowed.
            “This is my essence. You must retrieve my vessel. I cannot assist you until then.” Its explanations were of little help, but I was there for my son. Whatever this thing was, it did not matter.
            It directed me over small hills and dunes of black sand. Occasionally, we would come across a small crater with something at the center. Upon closer inspection, it seemed they were stone statues of mangled bodies, each taking horrifying shapes. One lay on the ground, many twisted arms sprawling from its stomach. Another looked like but a bundle of cloth, with a daemon mask placed on its top. Interestingly, I noticed each odd specimen had one thing in common: Chains. Heavy chained nets lay on top of each statue, containing them, grounding them to the island itself. Eventually we stopped at one, a crater a bit larger than the others. The figure beneath the netting was odd, even compared to the rest. It seemed slightly transparent, and almost blurry somehow.
            “Break the chains,” the voice echoed for the first time in minutes.
            I paused for a moment, looking at the net, “I don’t know how,” I responded.
            A second passed before its next words, “What is something you desperately want back?” It was an odd question. I imagined her smile anyway; how great it would be to feel the joy streaming from her once again. Then anger welled up in me as I reminisced of our firstborn; he had been even worse off, which resulted in his own death years ago. I felt the anger once more at how the gunshot he put in his own head had been the catalyst for the one in hers.
            “Good. Use that,” the voice continued. I stood in offended confusion for a brief time but shook my head. I took a deep breath and walked over to the chains, picking up a rock along the way. When I lifted my hand, it almost felt like my emotions coursed through my veins and into the uplifted rock; and I smashed it down onto the end of the chain buried into the obsidian below. I wasn’t sure how this had worked, but it occurred to me not to question the impossible in whatever a “Planck time” is. A cloud of rust flew up upon the explosive impact, and when it cleared an abnormally tall figure stood before me.
            “Ah. This form you’ve given me is a good one. I thank you,” the voice that had been in my head now resonated from the strange figure. It stretched its long, pitch black and thorny arms; flexed what looked like withered flower petals on its face. When it spoke, tears smelling of her perfume poured out of its center like nectar.
            “Rose...” I said aloud. The purple stone that seemed to hold the voice before now sat at the center of the flower… or was it a head?
            “I had a feeling your desires would give you the desperation I needed for this freedom, but I had not thought it would manifest in such a way. This should work well,” the walking flower echoed once more, “Holding my end of our bargain should be much easier now. Let me grant you what you wish, then I will send you back.” I didn’t remember ever telling it what I wanted.
            “My son’s condition. I want my sangfroid to be his.”
            “I am aware. Although it seems like you wish for more than that,” it looked at its plant-like body and did what might be considered a flower snickering.
            “…And I want Rose back too,” I added.
            It paused. “I am afraid even the divine has its limits, human,” the flower-being glanced towards the sky with its ever-concealing words, “I am no mere genie. You do understand that, yes?”
            I stood still. It clicked. Whatever was happening was no hallucination. I had not suffered a concussion from the heavy metal beam to my head. I had not noticed around me the rain that seemed frozen in time. I was in the presence of an imprisoned god; and around me lay the corpses of a hundred of its fell companions, all but now one locked under chains. My gut wrenched with fear. Have I done something terrible? Is releasing my child of his plight worth releasing a deity that has been jailed between moments in time?

            We walked the island, I a few paces behind the divine. Every step I took I felt heavier. This must be what it is like for my darling son every day. I wish there was another way to get rid of the pain, but this seemed truly to be my only option. Besides, I had already created a body for the deity before me, so there is no point in stopping now, right? I narrowed my eyes at it. I created that body. If I could do that, I could cure my son.
            Minutes passed, I still had no idea where we were going. After a while, the god stopped in front of a large boulder.
            “This should suffice,” it raised its thorny hand haphazardly before closing its fingers into a loose fist. Before my eyes this boulder burst into thousands of little shards, from which the deity created an uncanny resemblance of my dear boy with the wave of its finger. It then turned to me and glanced down at my hand. I followed its gaze to find a misericord clenched tightly in my fist. I am unsure when it appeared there, but the next words spoken to me seemed in reference to the long knife.
            “High-functioning panic disorder. If you truly wish to take his pain, you must offer to feel it in his stead. The dagger in your hand presents you a choice. Use it to spill the trauma out of his blood or use it to release your own if things are to be left untouched. The choice is yours.” The statue of my kin animated and walked towards me. “Please” said his eyes and I knew I really had no choice at all. If I were to be the plight of humanity or the death of something bigger, so be it. I just want my son to be happy.
            I gripped the misericord tightly in my hand and took a step towards my stone child. Another deep breath.
            One.
            Two.
            Three.
            With a yell of who knows what emotions, I plunged the dagger into his heart and despite the statue of stone it pierced like skin. At that moment I nearly collapsed as I thought it truly was him who I stabbed, and no matter how hard I tried to convince myself it was but a statue I was unable. Purple blood trickled down the exposed haft of the misericord of which I was instructed by my god to drink. I felt gross. I felt awful but I did it anyway. I placed my head beneath the now-stuck knife and let my son’s form’s blood drip down onto my face. Closer and closer the drop got to my mouth, the more dread I felt. My brow. My nose. My lips. My tongue.
            The taste was enough to drop me. I fell to my back and my vision blurred as the flower god stood over me. I could barely hear but I was able to make out the phrase, “Your sacrifice will be remembered,” and the creature raised its thorny arm now glowing with some mystical power and thrusted it straight through my stomach.

            I awoke to the sound of thunder. My face was wet, and I appeared to be lying at the corner of my boat. There was an ache beneath my chest but when I pressed my hand to it, I found no wound. Processing what had happened, I quickly sat up and glanced around rapidly.
            There he was. My beautiful, beautiful child. Saltwater poured down his face while his brow furrowed in an expression, I believe, of confidence. He was pulling rope, standing majestically like an unsung hero.

××××            ××××

            My father never thought him the problem. I love him dearly, but his apathetic melancholy only worsened my condition, for I always felt I was the reason his waves of depression continued. Though I would do anything to help him, the only thing within my power would have just sent him over the edge too. My dad was hit hard by the boom of our sailboat on our way here, and I worry it concussed him, as he has been acting particularly stressed as of late. Getting through that storm has lifted my confidence a bit, but I think my father worries it just traumatized me more. It did, in the moment, and I have had nightmares the past few days; however, they have not been as bad as usual. I will admit, though, my father acting the way he is is really working my anxiety up.
            I do think this world is a good place. I miss my mother and brother dearly, but I need to focus on myself. If I were to dwell on that night for as long as he, I don’t think I would be able to live. Not with my condition as well. I truly hope the concussion will not affect him in the long run; I’ve been thinking about that a lot since we’ve landed. I’m sure it wouldn’t. Concussions happen to everybody, right? He told me to get this notebook for my thoughts, though I think he could benefit from something like this too. I actually approached him about it yesterday, but he dismissed it, telling me not to worry. He knows I can’t help it though…
            More tomorrow.

            I had another nightmare, but it was different than usual. The echoing voice that I usually hear in my head had a form. It reminded me a bit of my mom. I was spooked at first because it was just looming in the corner of the room; but when I heard it speak, I knew it was Nyarl. It offered me something. Usually it just talks to me, but maybe the body it had gave it more freedom. Nyarl said that now with its body it could repay the debt to me for keeping it company over the years. What it proposed was something I could not turn down. It had reached out its hand, and when I took it, we were in a different place.
            We stood on an obsidian beach. Around us there were a hundred fell creatures that did not belong to this world. I was quite frightened, but it did not compare to what lay before me. My father, made of stone, peered into my eyes the way he always did. But this time, it was he who was asking for something. I went to embrace him but found a bloodstained knife in my hand.
            “The dagger presents you a choice,” said Nyarl. And as I pressed it through my father’s chest, the shadow of the god behind me I swear swelled bigger.